


Parallel Lines

by NeverNiamh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bullying, F/M, Heavy Angst, Imaginary Friends, Implied Sam/Meg Masters, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, POV Castiel, POV First Person, Self-Harm, Soulmates, this does not have a happy ending, this is not a happy story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 10:06:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2424749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverNiamh/pseuds/NeverNiamh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His name is Dean Winchester. He has green eyes. One day you will love him. </p><p>They were like parallel lines. They needed each other. They were just the same. Built for the other. But fate would never let them meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parallel Lines

**Author's Note:**

> A/N - These characters do not belong to me, I’m just borrowing them for a short period of time to lay out my story before your eyes. I promise to give them back soon (maybe)
> 
> Pairing – Castiel (Castiel Novak) and Dean Winchester
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Self-Harm, Implied Suicide.
> 
> Reviews and comments are always nice if you have the time, whether they be positive or constructive criticism, but otherwise, please just enjoy my work.
> 
> I couldn’t find the Tumblr post but this work was based off another Tumblr post about how if you’re soullmate got hurt you would as well. 
> 
> I’m sorry for how depressing this is.

**Parallel Lines.**

_In the arms of the angels,_

_Fly away from here,_

_From this dark cold hotel room,_

_And the emptiness that you feel_

-          _sarah mclachlan_

_His name is Dean Winchester. He has green eyes. One day you will love him._

///

People said it was because I had a great imagination.

_Oh that little Castiel, such a cute little boy isn’t he?_

_Oh but who’s he talking to?_

_Oh and imaginary friend? Wow he has such a great imagination!_

I tried to tell them. Dean was real. He just wasn’t here yet. He’d be here soon, one day. He had green eyes. I didn’t know him, but I would. Sometimes I’d hear his voice in the back of my head.

They’d smile and nod, but they didn’t believe me.

One day I gave up trying to tell them.

///

People said it was because I was clumsy.

_Oh that little Castiel, such a cute little boy isn’t he, so clumsy._

I wasn’t clumsy. I told them that. I said it wasn’t me.  It was Dean. Dean was the clumsy one. He was always falling over things. That’s why I had all these bruises, because Dean had them as well.

They’d smile and nod, but they didn’t believe me.

One day I gave up trying to tell them.

///

“Castiel Novak will be removed from school if he keeps getting these bruises. God, someone must be beating him up! No one will hurt my son that way.”

No one was hurting me. People were hurting Dean.

I tried to tell them.

They’d frown and nod, but they didn’t believe me.

One day I gave up trying to tell them.

I moved schools.

///

The teacher was nice. She had blonde-y brown hair that went down to her shoulders and a stern but kind voice. She said her name was Mrs Harvelle. I liked the name. I liked the H at the start of it. Harvelle. I wasn’t completely sure why her first name was Mrs. It seemed like all adults first names were Mrs. Except mummy.

“This is Castiel Novak. He’s new here, everyone be very nice to him today. Now Castiel, is there anything about yourself you’d like to share with the class?”

“My name is Castiel Novak. There’s a man called Dean with green eyes. I’m going to love him someday. Sometimes I hear him in the back of my head.”

Someone laughed.

///

People said that it was because I was a weirdo.

_Oh that Castiel, nine years old and still talking to people who aren’t there._

This time I did get hit.

One day I stopped talking to Dean.

///

“Did someone give you those bruises?”

“This one’s Dean.”

They’d frown and tell me to shut up.

You’re too old to have a Dean.

He’s not real.

One day I began to believe it.

///

“Did your mum do that to you?”

There was a mark on my face.

I don’t know how it got there.

If I was younger I’d have said it was Dean.

“Ring this number if anyone hurts you again.”

I took the card.

///

“I don’t hurt my son!”

“The evidence states otherwise.”

“You can’t take him away from me!”

I was put in a foster home. They said mum hurt me but she didn’t. The marks just appeared.

If I was younger I’d tell them that Dean’s Dad hurt him.

I said I wanted to stay with mum.

I went to live with a man called Chuck instead.

Chuck was nice, but he wasn’t family.

That night I cried.

///

I was fourteen when the marks appeared on my wrists.

They said it was because I was a troubled teen.

_Castiel, fourteen years old and had to live with his parents beating him for years. No wonder he’s turned to self-harm. He needs help._

I wasn’t hurting myself.

I tried to tell them.

///

“Did you cut those marks yourself?”

“No.”

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know. They just appeared.”

“You can tell me you know; this is confidential concealing.” I didn’t like the woman. She looked too kind, overly kind, and she was wearing too red lip stick. Her name tag said Naomi in clear black letters. Her smile was fake. I didn’t think she cared about me at all.

“I am telling you. I didn’t do this.”

“You have more every week.”

“I just wake up with them.”

“You can’t just wake up with something.”

She kept tapping a pen against her notebook. She had two phones; they were laid out on the seat next to her. Who on god’s green earth really needs two phones?

“Is it your troubled Past?”

“I don’t have a troubled past,” I muttered.

“You were moved into foster care.”

“My mum didn’t hit me.”

“There was evidence against that statement.”

“I didn’t cut myself.”

She sighed. I felt a little like punching her.

“Then who did?”

I paused. “If I was a child, I’d say Dean.”

“Who’s Dean?”

_His name is Dean Winchester. He has green eyes. I’m going to love him one day._

“My imaginary friend.”

She pursed her lips.

///

 The marks never went away. There were always new ones. Eventually they took me away from Chuck. They gave me to some new family. I saw Naomi every day.

Everyday she’d tell me I was the one cutting.

Every day I’d think at her that I wasn’t, but eventually I’d tell her I was, just to shut her up.

///

_You have green eyes._

_My names Dean._

_I’m dreaming._

_Is your name Castiel?_

_This is a dream._

_You have blue eyes. I’m going to love you one day._

I woke up.

///

When I turned sixteen Anna came to my party. I didn’t have any other friends.

///

When I turned seventeen I stopped seeing Naomi. I got my own apartment foster care hurt too much. I moved in with my friend Balthazar. He let me talk about Dean sometimes. He said he believed me. I believed he believed me. I didn’t believe myself.

///

One day Balthazar saw the marks appear.

I told him that I’d never done it.

He said it must be Dean.

I said Dean wasn’t real.

///

_Do you cut yourself?_

_Shut up._

_You have green eyes._

_And you have blue eyes._

_Cuts appear on my wrist that I didn’t make._

_They’re probably mine._

_My roommate thinks you’re real. I think you’re imaginary._

_Weird. I think you’re imaginary as well._

I woke up.

///

Anna and Balthazar had come round after school one night to watch movies.

They told me the soul-mate theory.

I laughed.

“You think Dean exists?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“You’re mad.”

“You get cuts you never made, and bruises that don’t belong to you. The soul-mate theory states that you can receive the injuries of your counter-part.” Anna pointed out.

“Soul-mates don’t exist.”

///

I got an F on my English.

I dropped out of school.

///

_Are you real?_

_I think so, Cas._

_It’s Castiel._

_You’ve always been Cas in my mind._

_Have I always been in your mind as well?_

_Dean was my first word._

_Cas was mine._

_You say oh a lot._

_I don’t think you’re real._

_I don’t think you’re real either._

_I kinda hope you are._

_I hope you are as well._

I woke up.

///

I was almost twenty. I didn’t have a job. I spent most of my time tying stories on my computer that would never get read, and sleeping.

When I slept I got to speak to Dean.

I was pretty sure I was mad.

Maybe I’d always been mad.

///

_How old are you?_

_I’m nineteen._

_I’m nineteen as well._

_Stop saying huh, parallel line._

_I’m not called Parallel line. My name is Castiel._

_My roommate calls you Parallel line. Calls us Parallel lines. We’re just the same, built for one another, but we never meet._

_Do you think we’ll ever meet?_

_You can’t meet someone who doesn’t exist._

I woke up.

///

More cuts lined my arm on my twentieth birthday.

Balthazar moved in with Anna.

They were going to get married, Anna said.

I was happy for them. But I didn’t see them much afterwards.

I wished Dean was real.

///

_My brother just died._

_Not just, a while ago. We were kids. It’s why I started to cut._

_Yeah. It was my job to look after him. I think I killed him._

_Did you?_

_Maybe. I miss him._

_What was his name?_

_I’m sorry for your loss._

I woke up.

///

_I got fired today._

_That’s crap._

_No, it’s not really. I’d only been working their a few months. I never showed up for work._

_What do you want to be?_

_An author._

_I want to be a fire-fighter._

_Did Sam die in a fire?_

I woke up.

///

I’d learnt to hide the cuts that weren’t mine now.

I’d learnt to hide the way Dean was in my head.

I didn’t like my job.

People talked about me at work.

They called me that quiet one.

_Oh that guy? Uh, I think his names Castiel or something odd like that. Never speaks._

I tried to talk to them, but they were normal. They had normal lives, they did normal things.

I just had a black word document sat at home and a guy called Dean who didn’t exist.

///

_I’m giving up._

_On what?_

_You say oh too much._

_I guess I do._

_It’s just too much. My only friend is imaginary and I’m twenty two years old._

_Don’t do anything stupid, Dean._

I woke up.

///

_Cas?_

_Yes Dean?_

_I wish I knew what you looked like._

_I have blue eyes._

_I can see that._

_I wish I knew what you looked like._

_I have green eyes._

_I can see that._

I woke up.

///

Four unread messages.

“Hey, Cas. It’s Anna. Just checking up on you, call me back if you get the chance.”

“Hey Cas, it’s Balthazar, ring us back mate.”

“Hey Cas, It’s Anna. We miss you buddy.”

“Hey Cas, It’s Balthazar. You’re not still hung up on the soul-mate guy are you? Give us a ring.”

I didn’t ring back.

///

_I think I could have loved you._

_What?_

_I think I could have loved you, had you been real._

_Stop saying oh._

_I’m not coming back._

_What do you mean?_

_I’m not coming back, after tonight._

_But you live in my head._

_No, you live in my head._

_You can’t leave. You’re my only friend._

_Bye Cas._

I woke up.

I was sick.

///

I was walking to work when it happened. The tightening feeling around my neck, like I couldn’t breathe. It hurt. Stars swimming in front of my eyes. I felt like I was dying. Maybe I was. Everything was coming to an end, like little pieces of myself just being snapped away, broken and blown to the wind.

I woke up in hospital.

The nurse was called Meg.

///

I felt like someone had killed me, even though I was alive. Something wasn’t right.

I didn’t dream of Dean anymore.

There were marks around my neck that looked like a rope.

They never went away

///

Ten years after I met her I married Meg.

We understood each other.

She said she’d lost someone who didn’t exist as well. She had burns on her arms.

His name was Sam.

I’d laughed.

///

The graveyard was peaceful. It hung on the edge of town, not really belonging to the city. It looked small, almost too small. It always struck me, whenever I walked across crunching leaves of a cemetery, how dead bodies were beneath me, people who had had lives buried deep down, six feet under. It always stuck me that one day I’d join them.

Meg had joined them now. She’d died at seventy-one years of age. She’d never really been happy. Neither had I. We’d lost people who didn’t exist. We were empty. Our lives had been meaningless. She had burns on her arms, I had a mark on my neck.

I’d have liked to say I loved her.

I didn’t.

I don’t think she loved me either.

But we were friends. And the sex had been good.

I visited her gravestone every day. I brought her flowers. I waited to join her.

///

It was an awful month, bleak, cold, not close enough to Christmas to be excited about the season, but cold enough to feel like you might die of the frost.

I spent most of my time nowadays wondering the graveyard.

I left flowers by stranger’s graves as I waited for the snow to fall.

I laughed when I found it. And then I cried.

///

At the edge of the graveyard there is a stone. It was erected by a drunken father. When asked what he’d like on it, he scoffed. His son was a nobody, he had said.

They’d told him that there had to be something.

His father had said that he’d died wishing for his blue eyed angel and hung up the phone.

The gravestone was small. It was made of pure white marble. In December it was covered in snow. It was placed next to the Gravestone of Samuel Winchester. The words were carved deep into the stone,  no one but an old dying man in a trench coat had ever truly bothered to read them.

_In loving Memory of Dean Winchester._

_Died age twenty-two years._

_In the arms of his blue eyed angel. May he find some comfort here._

_///_


End file.
